


Sleeping Cats Lie

by AnnaVarg



Series: The Phoenix and the Griffon [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaVarg/pseuds/AnnaVarg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Hawke has been experimenting with transformation spells, and now he's turned himself into a fluffy cat! Merrill promptly gives him into Anders' loving care, who pours his heart out to him, unaware who lurks under the fur and whiskers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Cats Lie

"I don't understand it," Bodahn said, scratching his head. "Messere Hawke was reading in the library, and then all of a sudden there was a mighty big rumpus, what with his mabari chasing a cat all over the house. It doesn't make sense to me how that cat found its way inside the estate, it just doesn't."

Merrill held the cat closer to her chest, petting it to calm the poor little kitty down - but it didn't seem all that panicked, luckily. "Bit of an odd one. Oh well. Do let us know if Hawke comes back, would you?"

Bodahn still looked a little worried, his moustache twitching. Merrill blinked, catching herself staring. Moustaches and beards were so - fascinating, especially when they moved.

"Will you be taking the stray with you? I've locked the hound in the messere's bedroom, but he has all the tenacity of a mabari and he's rather anxious to get out..."

Merrill nodded, although the cat squirmed in her hold, trying to free itself. "Easy now, kitty," she crooned to the desperately meowing and scrambling thing. "Let's leave that silly mabari alone. I'll take you to the Hanged Man and buy you a drink, how about it? How about a nice big saucer of milk, hmm?"

The cat meowed, staring straight at her with its big copper eyes, as serious as a templar on duty. The effect was ruined by a tiny pink nose, magnificent whiskers and fluffy white paws; the rest of the fur was striped, deep orange and cream-coloured. It didn't really look like a stray, not like the ones in the Alienage, Merrill thought; it appeared well-fed and clean, and certainly friendly, not feral at all. It deserved a good home, someone to purr to.

A wonderful idea occurred to her. "Ooh, I know someone who'd love to meet you, puss!" she exclaimed, and kissed the pink nose. "Yes they would! You adorable little fluffball, you!"

The cat took it rather well, but appeared a little bewildered as Merrill held onto it with both arms and skipped to Lowtown.

\-----------------

No one seemed particularly distraught that their trip to the Bone Pit would have to be postponed until they found Hawke. It was cold, the heavy grey clouds hanging over Kirkwall said it would snow any day now, and there were only so many undead one could chop or zap before the whole business got rather redundant. But something about Merrill's tale bothered Anders, and he seemed to be the only one.

"Hawke wasn't home?" Anders asked, frowning. "But... he's the one who asked us to meet here tonight, didn't he? Where could he have gone?"

"The Rose?" Isabela suggested with a shrug.

Not if he knew Hawke at all, Anders thought, and ignored the pang of jealousy nonetheless. It wasn't his business where Hawke sought his relief - but it did seem more likely that he found it in an ancient scroll of arcane knowledge than between a pair of paid legs.

Even Varric laughed. "Hawke? That'll be the day. He's probably gone to find orphans to fish out of wells, or kittens to rescue from trees. Another round?"

Anders became aware that Merrill appeared to be sitting on an anthill and kept eyeing Isabela in a desperate manner.

"Oh, can I tell him already, Isabela? Please? I can't wait to see the look on his face!"

Isabela sighed and gave her an indulgent look. "Let's get the drinks in first, then you can give Anders his surprise."

That sounded ominous. Knowing those two, it was either a Qunari stripper or an invitation to a picnic in the viscount's garden.

He accepted the pint from Varric, although he knew Justice would only let him have a sip of it. Merrill bounced over to the bar, and Corff picked up something and gave it to her.

Something with fur the colour of marmalade. Something that mewed insistently. Something absolutely _precious_.

Merrill brought the cat over to the table, and it hopped onto it, still meowing, not in protest - just a chatty sort of cat, apparently. Anders had seen the like before.

"Kitten found you a cat," Isabela said with a smirk.

"That's the stray from Hawke's estate," Merrill said, and beamed as the cat nosed their goblets, looking at them all in turn. "It's a tabby, isn't it? Oh, isn't it the cutest thing?"

Isabela pushed the wildly gesturing tail out of the way. " _He_ is very much a tom. I know balls when I see them."

Merrill slapped her shoulder, giggling, while the cat backed away, indignant. "Well, say something, Anders! Do you like him?"

Like him? Anders was smitten. "How can anyone not like him? Just look at that face!"

The cat's wide, sober gaze focused on Anders, and he padded over to him, sitting on the table and addressing him in a low meow, almost like a question. Anders reached out and stroked the soft, striped fur, careful not to scare the cat away. It only made the cat mew louder, desperation in his tone.

"He seems to be trying to tell you something," Varric pointed out.

The cat immediately turned to Varric, and let out an enthusiastic mewl. Then he turned and bounced over to Anders's staff, pawing it. His copper eyes captured Anders again, stared straight into him. He had never seen a cat look at him with such frustration. In his experience, cats were above such things as attempting to explain the world to humans; they went about their business as they pleased.

"Now how did you know that was my staff?" Anders picked up the cat, who didn't protest, although he still stared at Anders, unblinking. "You're a clever boy, aren't you?"

He gathered the cat close, and felt him squirm a little before he was comfortable, nose tucked into the feathers.

"Aww, I knew he'd like your coat!" Merrill leaned over the table to scratch the cat behind one ear. "He's already picked you, isn't that sweet?"

Anders heard the cat start to purr, relaxing against him. He was a warm weight against his heart.

"I can see he has," Anders said, voice hushed with affection, and stroked the cat's striped and honest face with his fingertips. The cat looked up at him, eyes wide and full of important things, but he seemed content for now, trusting Anders to take care of him.

\-----------------

After a couple of more pints the others emptied and Anders barely touched, they decided to call it a night.

"Come on," Anders called to the cat, because he had already found he paid attention whenever he was spoken to, "let's go see your new home."

The cat followed him as if he knew where they were heading, mewing enthusiastically as if to say, 'coming!' Anders marvelled at how trusting and uncannily smart the cat was. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if...

He scooped the cat up, and looked him in the eye. He tilted his head to the side; the cat did the same. Yes, now that Anders concentrated a little, he was certain he could sense some remnants of a spell on the cat. Perhaps he had belonged to a rich apostate. Those copper eyes were a little too understanding.

"You don't happen to have a spirit inside you, do you?" Anders asked, and the cat mewed, as if in protest. "Don't fret now, I'm not judging. I have one myself."

And Justice was getting suspicious, Anders could feel it like an approaching storm. There was clearly something unnatural about the cat's intelligence, but there wasn't a trace of malevolence or deception in him that Anders could see.

When he reached the clinic, it was already late, and he lit the lanterns so he wouldn't trip over his feet. The cat followed him faithfully, meowing conversationally every now and then, not the least bit interested in surveying his surroundings.

"Go on, Tawny," Anders urged. "Can I call you Tawny? I'm sure you have a fancier name, seeing how well fed and groomed you are, but I need to call you something, right?"

The cat sat down, tail swishing as he gave it a ponder, and then mewed in agreement.

"Tawny it is then. You know, I'm sure if you poke around the back of the storage closet, you'll find a mouse or two. Perhaps even a nice, juicy rat. How about it?"

Tawny didn't move, staring at Anders as if he had suggested he should feed on moonbeams and starlight.

"Milk, then? I think I have some left."

Anders went through his cupboard for a reasonably clean bowl, and filled it with milk. It wasn't as fresh as it could have been, and a Hightown cat was probably used to roast beef and thick cream, but it was all he had to offer.

He found some bread for himself, and sat down on his bed to eat his uninteresting dinner. Tawny gave him a long-suffering look over the bowl, clearly not finding it entirely fitting fare, but then gave the milk a tentative taste. Soon, he was lapping it up, clearly hungry, or thirsty at least.

"Sorry," Anders said. The bread was dry. He couldn't say he enjoyed it all that much, either, but it filled his stomach.

His thoughts strayed to familiar paths, and worry gnawed at him. Hawke had never simply gone missing before; he wasn't the kind of man who forgot appointments or broke a promise. In fact, he was so true and utterly _decent_ it only made Anders feel worse about harbouring such salacious secret fantasies about him. Hawke was someone who set things right, a shining example for all the people of Kirkwall, not a wanking fantasy for a depraved and clearly delusional apostate who should have known better.

Anders fell heavily down on his back, and the hard mattress almost knocked the breath out of his lungs. He had a whole library of those fantasies by now; if Varric knew half of them, he would have story material for the rest of the year and more besides.

He heard an inquiring little sound, and turned his head to meet wide, concerned copper eyes. Tawny licked milk from his whiskers, staring at him from the floor.

"Come here," Anders called, a quiet wish, and it was granted as Tawny pounced onto the bed and climbed over him to sit by his side.

Anders scratched the side of the cat's face, then under his chin, and he closed his copper eyes in satisfaction, slowly starting to purr again.

"I don't know what to do," Anders confessed, because it was easy to make such confessions to a fluffy, adorable listener who couldn't very well repeat his words to anyone else. "It's so... ridiculous. The mages in the Gallows need me, and the Fereldan refugees in Darktown need me, but I can't focus on anything because all I can think about is someone who doesn't need me at all."

He sighed, and realised he was officially wallowing, and that he should give himself some credit - Hawke may have been a prodigious mage, but he knew absolutely nothing about Spirit Healing.

"All right, he might need me to patch him up whenever a dragon takes a bite out of him. But if he knew that every time I touch him, I get so wound up I can barely cast a _spell_..." Anders wiped a hand over his face.

Tawny lay down, warming his side, and his hand slid to the back of Tawny's head, continuing to pet the silky fur.

Anders stared at the ceiling, comforted by the low purring, but there was a hollow place in his heart and he didn't think it would ever be filled. "It would never work anyway. Not with Justice, not with..."

Tawny burrowed closer, stretching out his paws to hook his claws into Anders's clothes.

"Don't feel bad, Tawny," Anders said placatingly, stroking the cat's long back. "You're an excellent cat, and a fine companion, and I'm sure we'll get along splendidly. But you're not Hawke."

The purring stopped altogether. Tawny raised his head, and looked up at him, distracted by something probably only cats could know or understand. In a beat, the cat was on his feet, fluffed out and eyes as big as saucers.

Curious. Anders hadn't noticed that speck of gold in Tawny's left eye before, similar to Hawke's.

"You're absolutely right. I'm getting a little maudlin here. Let's get ready for bed, hm?"

Tawny meowed, a tiny, hopeful sound, and placed one paw on Anders's chest, preventing him from getting up. His fluffed out tail whisked this way and that, furiously conveying messages Anders couldn't read.

"Hold on. Let me get back to you." Anders gently placed Tawny on the bed, and started to pull at belts and fastenings. It took some time to take off his coat, but he was fond of it, and it was his only one, in any case.

He had the strange sensation that he was being... watched as he undressed, and glanced at Tawny over his shoulder after pulling his shirt over his head. The cat quickly turned away, all but guiltily. It was one more sign that Tawny was far from ordinary; no cat Anders had ever seen had the slightest sense of modesty, throwing their legs up and licking themselves clean wherever and whenever they pleased.

Anders tugged the threadbare blanket closer, and suppressed a shiver as he crawled under it. The nights were getting colder. Well, at least now he had a cat to warm his lap. Tawny seemed affectionate enough. Or he had seemed so, at first; now he sat on the far side of the bed, all white paws gathered close, staring at Anders in befuddlement.

Anders raised the corner of the blanket, and patted the mattress next to him. Cats weren't big cuddlers, generally, but it was worth a try. "Come on, Tawny. Share some warmth. I'll give you all the pets and snuggles you want."

The cat stepped closer, then back again, inexplicably wary. His eyes bore holes into Anders, begging him to understand. At length, he seemed to screw his courage to the sticking place, and padded close, lying down next to Anders, not as close as before. Keeping his word, Anders gave Tawny's back a few long strokes, then scratched his side, experimentally. Tawny didn't seem to mind being coaxed to roll over to expose the fine, cream-coloured fur that covered his stomach. Anders sank his fingers into it, and could feel warmth flowing through him.

"You're such a fine, fine cat, you are," he murmured, scratching softly, running his hand through the thick fur. "Look how silky your fur is. There are even little tufts of it between the pads, there..."

Tawny slowly stretched as Anders pet and rubbed his stomach, and his eyes closed as he started to purr again. His paws kneaded the air, opening and closing in drowsy pleasure. Anders smiled - it was hard not to smile at something so adorable. He pulled his pillow closer with his other hand. The steady purring and the warmth that radiated from the cat was enough to make him drowsy, too. Anders continued to idly pet Tawny until he fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.

\-----------------

Anders started to float back to waking when a strange, new sound tickled his ears. It was distantly familiar; it sounded like... sleepy murmuring. His eyelids were heavy, and the world took a while to focus. The lanterns were flickering, almost burnt out. It was morning, then, or close enough. Curiously enough, there was no chill in the air, and Anders felt quite warm and snug.

His hand rested on a freckled, taut stomach.

Anders yelped, and jumped back, and because there was barely room for two people to begin with, he promptly fell out of the bed. He took the blanket with him, wrapped as it was around his legs, and while he was trying to untangle himself, Hawke stirred and pushed up onto one elbow, brushing his gingery hair back from his face. As soon as he got his eyes open, they widened and he let out a surprised noise of his own, scrambling to find something to cover himself with, because he was completely and tantalisingly naked.

Maker help Anders, because he couldn't help himself. He stared, taking in the tousled tawny hair he had never seen loose before, and the neat beard that was a shade darker. Hawke's handsome face was flushed, and there was a trail of curling hair that ran down his chest and past the freckled stomach - he really _did_ have freckles on his stomach, as Anders had imagined - and down to...

Anders averted his gaze, blinking furiously to make sure his eyes hadn't caught fire.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry," he managed, out of breath because Hawke was naked in his bed, and for some reason, he hadn't woken up from this impossible dream yet.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Hawke insisted, his tone gentle and concerned as always. "I shouldn't have stayed, even though I had no idea when the spell would... expire. I should've... Maker, I don't know what. It was foolish of me to try out a transformation spell I hadn't properly studied in the first place. Um, could I have that blanket, please?"

Somehow, he made even awkwardness sweet. Anders offered him the blanket, keeping his eyes cast down, all too aware that if he stood up Hawke would realise just how sweet Anders found him. His heart pounded. Hawke... was Tawny. Hawke had _heard_...

"How... how did you know to rub my stomach, anyway?"

That made Anders finally tilt his head up before he could stop himself. "I... what?"

Hawke gave him a sheepish smile that flooded Anders's belly with butterflies. "My secret weakness." His smile gave way for a more serious look. "But it seems I'm not the only one with secrets."

Anders hid his face in his hands. "Oh, Maker. Please, Hawke, just... just forget what you heard. I... I promise that's the last you'll hear of it."

"Anders? You don't truly mean that, do you?" The kind, patient rumble of his voice melted Anders's heart. "I understand. This is... a little awkward for me, too. I confess I... don't rightly know how these matters are usually dealt with. You're the first man I've ever considered - considered - well."

Bless him if he didn't sound entirely out of his element. Blood rushed in Anders's ears. Was he hearing this right? Hope pulled him up from the floor and back onto the bed, while Hawke searched for words, adorably flustered. When their eyes met, that speck of gold arrested Anders's entire attention.

"I suppose I'd just dearly like to find out if you're as affectionate with lovers as you are with cats," Hawke finished, smiling.

Anders had affection running in his veins by that point. He pushed Hawke's hair back, and found it silky to his touch, if not as fine as cat fur. His hand curled against the nape of Hawke's neck, and before he knew it, he had smothered Hawke's gasp against his mouth. Warm hands slid up his back, and Hawke tasted of hope that sometimes wishes did come true.

And, faintly but unmistakably, of milk.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Dragon Age Kinkmeme.


End file.
